


Unlocked

by lha



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lha/pseuds/lha
Summary: Something none of them predicted, shatters Nonnatus House and it's inhabitants.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel that the series is clearly teeing something up in relation to Sister Frances. I don't really think this is where they will take the story but this is an idea that I just couldn't leave alone.

Sister Julienne knocked gently on the bedroom door and listened carefully for a response over the muted sound of the popular music playing from one of the other rooms nearby. When there was no answer, she quietly pushed open the door to look for some sign of Sister Frances. The younger woman had seemed out of sorts earlier in the day and Julienne had sought her out after dinner, shared a time of personal prayer with her, hoping she would find the quiet and the companionship reviving even if the younger woman didn’t want to speak to about what was troubling her. Afterwards, Julienne had suggested that she should have a bath and an early night, reassured her that rest often brought clarity.

Her room was empty though, her bed still neatly made and clearly unused. It wasn’t overly late and while they had bid goodnight almost two hours ago it wasn’t yet time for vespers, still Julienne felt a strong draw to find the young woman. It had only been a passing thought initially, a still small voice nudging her to check on Sister Frances but that nebulous desire was quickly growing into something more.

Closing the door on the empty bedroom, Julienne took a step back and looked to the bathroom at the end of the hallway. Walking towards it, she tilted her head to the side, listening carefully for the sound of someone inside. Again she tapped on the solid wood, but again there was no answer.

“Sister Frances?” she asked. “Sister, are you in there?” Time stretched on as she waited and something inside Julienne writhed, her anxiety abstract but growing. “Sister?” She waited another moment before she reached out and turned the handle. The door wasn’t locked and she’d already moved on to wondering whether Frances had perhaps returned to the chapel, when it swung open. She stood frozen to the spot for what felt like an eternity unable to process what it was that she was seeing.

“No,” the word barely fell from her lips as finally she was able to break through the inertia holding her on the threshold and almost fell forward. “No. Sister!” She looked as though she were floating, her white cotton slip stained pink, her neck resting on the edge of the tub. The water was dark with blood, her lips translucent and there was no sign at all of movement. With an awful certainty Julienne knew that she was dead. 

Reaching into the water, she took hold of the young woman beneath the arms and with a strength born of need, heaved her up. Water surged in a wave onto the tiles as she fell to her knees, Frances chest pressed up against her own as her unresponsive legs followed in an ungainly slide. The thud as they hit the ground should have sounded painful but instead it didn’t, it sounded dead. Her trembling fingers reached for a pulse as her other hand reached blindly for a towel, for anything she could use to bind the wounds in her wrists.

“No no no nononono,” she repeated quietly, over and over. “Please no.” There was nothing. No sign of life, no waking her, no response when she shook her shoulders, and pleaded. Something visceral, untamed rushed through her chest as she held the broken body close to her heart and she cried out.

*****

Trixie's head shot up as the chilling sound of a scream pierced through the music on her Dansette. Nail varnish dripped from the brush onto her manicure tray as she sat frozen for a moment. The voice broke but the cry didn't stop and as adrenaline rushed through her veins she abandoned the tray haphazardly, and ran for the door.

Lucille was bounding up the stairs and they shared a look as they turned towards the end if the corridor and where the bathroom door lay open. As soon as they were close enough to see even a sliver of what was inside, her blood turned to ice. 

There were sounds you never forgot and Trixie was certain that the keening wail that was escaping Sister Julienne would be one of them. The physical distress in the cry was so shocking that Trixie somehow found it more distressing than the sight before her. There was no need to ask what had happened.

“Sister?” Lucille asked, from beside Trixie, waking her from her daze. “Sister?” she repeated, as they both moved into the room.

“Sister Julienne,” Trixie tried, kneeling down and attempting valiantly to sound composed and in charge. “Sister, we need you to let go. Please let us help,” she tried. Sister Julienne’s cries had descended into broken sobs, no less wretched and miserable for being quieter.

“It’s… It’s too late.”

“Just let us check Sister, let us try,” Lucille pleaded. 

After a moment the tight grip Sister Julienne had on Sister Frances loosened and Trixie helped Lucille to pull the limp form free so that she was lying flat on the tiles. She bent her head over the young nun’s face and turned her cheek so it was above her mouth, resting her hand on her chest. From here Trixie could see the elder Nonnatun watching them, her knuckles pressed up against her mouth as tears poured down her face. 

“No respiration,” she said quietly to Lucille who moved from wrist to neck looking for a pulse. After several moments, she shook her head.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Sister Julienne muttered, her head shaking in denial. 

“Lucille would you go and call Doctor Turner?” she asked pointedly. 

“Of course,” she said, standing and crossing the room quickly as Trixie turned back to Sister Julienne.

“No, no, no, no no.” The quiet repetition continued. “I’m sorry…. I’m so sorry…” 

In all the years Trixie had worked with her, through all the tragedy they had been witness to and encountered themselves, she had never seen Sister Julienne in anything close to this sort of state. 

Usually it was the Sister who helped them do what was required for their patients, she would comfort them and tell them what they wanted or needed to hear. When she hadn’t been there, Trixie had so often wished she was. Longed for her experience but more her patience, her calm and compassion for their patients and for each and every soul who had belonged to Nonnatus House. Now though, now, with her frame trembling in Trixie’s arms, she wasn’t that bastion of strength or the source of shelter and they cried together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I hope you've enjoyed and always keen to hear your thoughts here or on twitter.  
> Lx  
> @LHA_again


	2. Chapter 2

Lucille held the banister as she climbed down the stairs, concentrating on what should have been a natural action in an attempt to keep her thoughts at bay. Sister Monica Joan was waiting at the foot of the steps, almost exactly where she had been when Lucille had told her to stay put as she had rushed past what seemed like hours ago. 

“I need to phone for Doctor Turner,” she said, her voice wavering. Seeing the fear on the other woman's face, Lucille continued; “Sister Julienne and Nurse Franklin will be down shortly. All will be well, Sister,” she added, trying desperately to convince herself.

“Your uniform betrays you,” Sister Monica Joan said, her eyes wet. Lucille looked down to see that the bloody water had seeped up the pale blue fabric of her dress leaving an uneven stain. 

“Sister Frances is,” she began, searching frantically to find the right words. “There has been… she’s… she has died Sister.” Sister Monica Joan clutched at her cross but remained silent. “I need to call for Doctor,” Lucille said again after a moment. The older woman nodded, turning and lowering herself with little grace to sit on the stairs. Bowing her head, she began quietly to pray.

“O God the Father, Creator of heaven and earth; Have mercy upon us…” 

As Lucille walked down the hall, she opened her soul and offered everything up before God alongside the Sister. It was a plea for guidance, strength and understanding and a moment was all she could give it but, nonetheless it seemed to help. 

“Doctor Turner’s surgery, Nurse Dyer speaking,” Valerie’s voice chipper and professional almost broke Lucille’s control. “Hello?”

“I…”

“Nurse Anderson? Is that you?” 

“Yes, we…” she took a deep breath. “There’s… there’s been a death and we require Doctor to attend.”

“Of course,” she said, her tone shifting immediately. “Where are you?” 

“Nonnatus House.”

“Lucille?” There was a frantic edge to Valerie's voice.

“We… Sister Frances….” The words were there now, floating ominously in her mind but Lucille was aware that Sister Monica Joan was only a few feet away, her prayers having fallen silent. “It seems that she has taken her own life,” she managed eventually. Saying it out loud, changed something though; crystallised the images of the bathroom upstairs, the feel of her cold damp flesh.

“Oh Lucille, is everyone…”

“Sister Julienne is quite distressed but we are managing for now,” she said pulling herself back together as best she could. “We will need someone to attend but if Doctor Turner is busy…”

“I’ll let him know. There haven't been any other calls and it's all quiet here at the moment. I’m sure he’ll want to be there right away.”

“Thank you, Nurse Dyer.” 

The phone almost fell back into the cradle and Lucille just watched it sitting there under her hand, waiting for it to ring again. She was on call, on duty. If it rang… But it didn’t. She looked up at the board, reading the names written there. Valerie was at the Maternity Home while Phyllis and Sister Hilda had been attending a home birth since early that afternoon. Then there was herself, second on call was Sister Julienne and marked as off duty Trixie and Sister Frances. 

There was a strangled cry from upstairs; a crescendo in the muffled voices and open sobbing, that caused Lucille to look up.

“I should go to my Sisters,” Sister Monica Joan said, beginning to carefully pull herself onto her feet.

“No, please,” Lucille said, moving to help her and stop her progress both. “You don’t need to see her like that.”

“I have seen more in my long life, than you can yet imagine child.”

“I won’t…” The strangled cry from Sister Julienne echoed off the wooden panels. 

Sister Monica Joan looked at Lucille, her gaze clear and determined now.

“Of course Sister,” she said stepping away. “I’m sorry…”

“Do not apologise for seeking to save someone for whom you care from hurt,” she said reaching out and clasping her shoulder. “But today of all days there is a value in our being honest with each other.” 

“Yes Sister,” she said with a shuddering breath, looking away.

“Do not hide your tears,” she chided gently. “But come and let us face into this storm together.”

*****

Patrick rang the bell, but Shelagh brushed right past him and opened the front door of Nonnatus House. She stood there holding it open and looking at him as though he were being painfully slow. With the Maternity Home quiet, it had been Nurse Dyer who had taken the call to the surgery and then called him at home. As soon as he’d said _’A death at Nonnatus?’_ , Shelagh had appeared at his side and there was no way that she was not going to be coming with him. 

The youngest three were already tucked up in bed and Tim, who had been studying at the kitchen table, was quick to offer to mind them. Nonnatus had been an important part of his childhood even before Shelagh, and his clear care for it’s inhabitants made Patrick ache with quiet pride. He'd hugged his son, now so nearly an adult and for once received no protest in return.

“Patrick,” Shelagh said, waking him from his momentary distraction and walking in, leaving him to follow. The entrance hall was deserted which was unsurprising given the circumstances but they met Trixie halfway up the stairs. She managed a flicker of a smile, but it was taught and clearly strained. 

“Doctor,” she said. “Mrs Turner, thank you so much for…” She bit her lip, clearly trying to maintain her composure. The legs of her satin pyjamas and the hem of her dressing gown were sodden, her makeup less than the usual perfect.

“Of course,” Shelagh said, reaching up to take her hand. 

“Sister Julienne found her,” she said quietly, glancing up towards the landing. “As far as I’ve been able to tell she was in the bathtub when... There are multiple lacerations on her wrists and significant blood loss. She was on the floor by the time Nurse Anderson and I arrived, and there was no pulse or respiration. I think it had been... it had been some time since she’d… passed.”

Patrick nodded, he trusted Nurse Franklin’s assessment and all of the staff at Nonnatus to be able to accurately detect signs of life, even in circumstances such as this. 

“They’re…” she said, glancing up to the top of the stairs again, and then to Shelagh. “She won’t… Sister Julienne… she doesn’t want her to be alone but…” The sob that she had clearly been fighting to contain burst forth.

“You’ve done so well, Trixie. So very well,” Shelagh said, climbing up a few more steps so that she could embrace the younger woman. “Can you go and get yourself into some dry things? We’ll see to Sister Julienne and anything else that needs to happen now but it’s going to be a long night and you need to look after yourself.” The blonde nodded, wiping her cheeks dry before turning and leading them up the stairs. 

The sound of crying became more audible as they made it onto the landing. He had been witness to more tears than he liked to remember, more loss than he could fathom but that never made the sound of genuine distress any easier to bear. Patrick could see that Nurse Anderson, standing in front of the bathroom door at the end of the landing wasn’t finding it any easier to hear. 

“Doctor Turner,” she said her face serious. “Mrs Turner. Sister Monica Joan is… She is trying to offer some comfort to her Sisters.” The detachment she was showing was more than clinical, and Patrick’s concern was peaked for her as well. Whatever had led to Sister Francis taking such drastic action, it was increasingly apparent that the fallout was going to take some time for her colleagues, her family to recover from. At the back of his mind, Patrick was already compiling a list of who they could reach out to, ask to take over at least some of the care Nonnatus usually delivered for the next few days. 

“Thank you Nurse,” he said, genuinely. Reaching out, and placing a hand on her arm. “Why don’t you go and take a minute for yourself? Get changed out of those we things?”

“I’m fine,” she said straightening her shoulders.

“Take a moment for yourself Lucille,” Shelagh said gently. “When you’re ready you can put the kettle on to boil. I suspect we’ll all be ready for a cup of tea.”

“I… I should put on a fresh uniform. In case I am called out,” the young nurse conceded, and with a glance back to the partially open door she crossed the hallway to her bedroom. For a moment, the only sounds were the hiss and thunk of the record player at the end of the groove, and the quiet inconsolable sobs.

Pushing open the door, he took a moment take in the scene. He could feel Shelagh at his shoulder and understood her clear desire to rush in but he needed to see the lay of the land, get his bearings before they disrupted the scene any further. There was water all over the tiled floor, bloody streaks on the edge of the bathtub and partially hidden by the backs of the two nun’s, was the body of a young woman whose life had ended far too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this isn't exactly light or joyful, but thank you for reading and I hope you've taken something away from it.  
> As ever I'd love to hear your thoughts,   
> Lx  
> @LHA_again


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I was both closer and further off the mark than I anticipated I would be...

Shelagh watched as Patrick’s gaze swept the scene before them, waiting for him to give her an indication that he was happy for her to enter. When he did, she walked slowly and carefully across to where her two former sisters were kneeling huddled on the floor.

“Mrs Turner is here,” Sister Monica Joan said quietly to the other woman. Sister Julienne was bent almost double, sitting on her feet but with her head resting on her forearms, clasped hands stretched out towards Sister Frances’ shoulder.

“I am so very sorry,” Shelagh said, not knowing what else to say. “So very, very sorry.”

“We are assaulted by this loss,” Sister Monica Joan said, her hand rubbing gently on Sister Julienne’s shoulder. “And it is made twice as bitter for she was young, and so full of promise.” Her voice cracked and Shelagh felt her own heart contract a little further. Crouching down on the other side of Sister Julienne, trying not to disturb the water on the floor any further, she placed her own hand on the other woman’s back.

“Sister?” she said quietly. “Patrick, Doctor Turner, is here. We need to let him look at Sister Frances.” 

“I can’t…” Sister Julienne whispered, raising her head enough to look at the face of the young woman before them. With her hair still hidden under her cap and her lips drained of all colour, Sister Frances was a pale imitation of the young woman who Shelagh had seen at Clinic earlier in the day. 

Sister Frances had always seemed young to Shelagh and had worn her innocence differently from any of the other newly initiated nuns she had known. Never though, never had it crossed her mind that Frances’s timidity, uncertainty even, had been a sign of something much more deeply rooted. Something that might have led to... This was not the moment to be lost in thoughts such as those though.

“I can’t leave her…” Sister Julienne was saying, shaking her head as tears continued to pour down her cheeks. “I shouldn’t have… I should…”

“She won’t be alone,” Shelagh reassured her. “Sister Monica Joan can stay with her while Doctor examines her. But I need you to come with me.”

“She… she was in _my_ care….” Sister Julienne protested. “For her to have been… To be so lost, to feel so alone. So far from God… that this...” She folded back over, hiding her face as she descended back into almost hysterical sobs.

“This is not your fault Sister,” Shelagh said, the strength of her conviction bringing steel to her tone. “You are not to blame.”

“Mrs Turner sees the truth where yet your eyes are too clouded by grief to grant you clarity,” Sister Monica Joan said, looking determinedly at Shelagh over the other woman’s back. Carefully, she stood, before leaning back down. “Come Sister, we must allow the Doctor to do what is required. Then we shall pray for Sister Frances, for it is all we have left to offer that she might take with her.” Beneath Shelagh’s hand, the tension in Sister Julienne’s back released and when they helped her up, she did not resist. 

Shelagh offered Patrick a tight smile as they passed him and he nodded gently, letting her know more than he could say.

“Sister Monica Joan,” he said. “Why don’t you sit here while I do what I need to.”

Sister Julienne was trembling violently by the time they made it to her bedroom, and Shelagh was grateful to be able to help her sit on the edge of her carefully made bed.

“Let’s get you out of these things,” she said gently. It was unnerving to see the usually composed woman so broken. Through everything that they had weathered together; through tears shed and shared, she had never seen the other woman anywhere close to this distraught.

Much like she would with the children, she spoke about what she was doing as she began methodically to remove her habit, unfastening her veil and cincture. There was a streak of blood across her cheek and staining the white of her head-dress, her hands were frozen, her sleeves, dress and apron all soaking. Through it all, much like an overwhelmed or exhausted child, Sister Julienne complied in silence.

A gentle knock at the door was followed by Trixie’s voice,

“I’ve brought you some warm water and a flannel,” she said quietly. Shelagh went across and opened the door. The younger woman’s face was bare of makeup and she was dressed simply in slacks and a sweater.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the basin of water and the towel from her. Trixie offered her a watery smile before retreating and heading back of the stairs.

Shelagh knelt and wiped the blood from her mentor’s face and for the first time since she had arrived, Sister Julienne’s eyes focused on her.

“I need to call the Mother House.” The hollowness in her voice was nothing compared to the emptiness in her eyes.

*****

“I will not be swayed, Sister Hilda,” Phyllis said as she pulled up in front of Nonnatus House. “Sister?”

“Is that Doctor Turner’s car?” the other woman asked, clearly distracted from their discussion on the merits of mustard as a variant to traditional cheese on toast.

“It is indeed,” she agreed, there was little the doctor’s new automobile could be mistaken for. “I wonder what’s brought him to Nonnatus at this hour of the night. I do hope no-one’s unwell, I had plans for my day off tomorrow.”

They had made it almost to the clinical room before they caught sight of anyone else. 

“Doctor Turner?” Phyllis asked, when they found him by the telephone.

“Nurse Crane. Sister Hilda,” he greeted them.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Doctor?” the Sister asked. He looked at them for a moment and before he said a word, something in Phyllis ran cold.

“I’ve just spoken to the police. It appears Sister Frances committed suicide earlier this evening.”

“Oh,” the exclamation from Sister Hilda was quiet but her knees gave way and she crumpled towards the floor.

“Easy there now,” Phyllis said automatically as she turned and tried to slow her descent. They both ended up on the floor, Sister Hilda pressing the back of her hand against her mouth and breathing as though she were trying very hard not to be sick.

“I’m alright,” the Sister said after a moment. “I just… what happened?”

“Let’s get you into a seat first shall we?” Doctor Turner suggested, helping Phyllis get her onto her feet. Phyllis couldn’t get her head around what she’d heard. She hadn’t known the young woman well and frankly, had been perhaps less impressed by her clinical and patient skills than she had hoped. That didn’t mean she wished any ill on her though. She was just a lass who hadn’t found her feet yet.

Trixie and Lucille were already in the kitchen, sitting staring at the teapot their expressions both equally distraught in their own ways. Guiding Sister Hilda into a chair, Phyllis chose to stay standing behind her, unable or unwilling to still quite yet.

“Mrs Thompson?” Lucille asked, the perfectly normal query seeming entirely alien suddenly.

“Healthy baby boy. Mother and child both doing well,” she replied clinically before turning to Doctor Turner. “You said, _’appears to have’_.”

“There will need to be a post mortem and the police will want to ask some more questions. From what I’ve seen and what’s been reported however, I’m convinced that Sister Frances made lateral incisions across both of her own wrists while submerged in the bathtub. She would have been dead for some time before Sister Julienne found her.”

“That poor, poor girl,” Sister Hilda said and Phyllis was inclined to agree.

“She must have been in unbearable torment,” Sister Julienne said from the doorway. “And I should have seen it.” Looking up at the other woman, and was struck by the haunted look she wore. It was as though she had aged a decade in since she’d last seen her. “Sister Monica Joan And Mrs Turner are sitting with… upstairs,” she swallowed, silent tears spilling over and running well worn tracks down her cheeks. “I’m sure they’d appreciate a cup of tea if someone wouldn’t mind…”

“Of course, Sister,” Lucille said. 

“I need to speak to the Mother House before the great silence commences,” she continued. “If the police arrive… I’ll be in my office.”

“Sister,” Doctor Turner began but she held a hand up to forestall him, turning away from them all and disappearing out of sight.

“I’ve never seen her like this,” Trixie said, looking up at Phyllis who wished she could think of something reassuring to say. 

“I should go with her…” Sister Hilda said, weeping openly now. 

“You are going nowhere Sister until you’ve had some well sugared tea and chance to gather yourself,” Phyllis said.

“Well said Nurse Crane,” the doctor agreed. “And you can join her,” he added pulling out the chair Lucille had just vacated.

“I’ll put the kettle back on for a fresh pot before I take these upstairs,” Lucille said, having poured two further cups. 

“And I’ll take one through to Sister Julienne.”

“Well see you don’t let her send you away Nurse Franklin,” Phyllis said curtly. “She’s clearly not herself.”

“Here Doctor Turner,” Trixie said, standing. “Take my seat.”

“This is bound to be a shock for you all,” he said, as the young nurse stirred a second spoonful of sugar into the cup she was holding. “I’ll call the Health Board and try to arrange for cover. Try not to let Sister Julienne worry on that at least, and if you need me,” he said seriously. “I’ll be here.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, before she turned to go, Lucille following behind.

“Doctor?” Nurse Crane asked when the three of them were alone.

“Sister Julienne was particularly distressed,” he said carefully. “This sudden change…”

“She became very task focused,” Mrs Turner said entering the kitchen with her arms wrapped around her waist. “Nurse Anderson is keeping Sister Monica Joan company.”

“And how is Sister Monica Joan?” Sister Hilda asked, wiping her face with her handkerchief.

“Being remarkably strong,” Shelagh said with a hint of relief. 

The doorbell sounded and broke through the quiet into which they’d fallen; 

“I’ll go,” Phyllis said, standing. She was half way down the hall when the duty phone rang it was all she could do not to scream in frustration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever for reading, I hope that you've enjoyed and please do consider throwing the author some scraps (they are always most appreciated!).  
> Lx  
> @LHA_again


	4. Chapter 4

Sister Julienne closed the door to the office and leaning back against the solid wood, clenched a hand to her chest. The quiet solitude she so often relished in this space, felt cold and empty now though. Beneath the calm she was so desperately trying to maintain, she could feel the twisting, writhing mass of emotion the intensity of which terrified her. It felt as though at any moment her defences might be breached and she would once more be overcome but she could not allow that to pass. There were things to be done and a duty to be fulfilled and just because she had failed so fundamentally before, that was no excuse now. 

Crossing to the small writing desk by the wall, she sat down and taking a deep breath Julienne lifted the receiver. She knew the number by heart, the sound of the bell at the other end and when the receiver was lifted, she recognised the voice too.

Sister Winifred's joyful enthusiasm was impossible for her to interrupt. Instead, she sat there in silence, listening to the delight with which she spoke of her charges. On an abstract level Julienne was aware of the tears falling onto her lap and knew they must have been falling from her eyes but did nothing to stop them.

“Sister Julienne?” Sister Winifred asked eventually. “Oh, here's Mother Mildred arrived.”

“Sister Julienne,” she said, her gruff tone a strange comfort. “What has you calling at this hour?”

“Mother,” she began, her own voice sounding cold and distant even to her ears. “There's been… That is… we have had….”

“My dear Sister, you are worrying me.”

“Sister Frances has taken her own life,” she said quietly, as though softly spoken the words might not ring true.

“May the good Lord help us. Are you… Are the circumstances certain?”

“In that she inflicted the wounds herself? I believe so. As to her state of mind… what it was that drove her to such desperate measures… I am not certain. Clearly I am… You will wish me to… Sister Hilda is the obvious choice to take charge of religious matters at least in the immediate future and Nurse Crane...”

“Sister?” the Mother Superior, interrupted. “If you need some time away from your duties then of course we shall do our utmost to make it happen, but...”

“Surely _you_ can see that I cannot be left in charge?” she pleaded, closing her eyes and trying valiantly to maintain the very shreds of her composure. “Given the unforgivable failure in my duty of care, I should hardly be allowed to treat patients never mind have oversight of spiritual matters.”

“Sister Julienne?”

“She was in my charge… I… Clearly I am not fit… I should have known… Should have seen…” Her emotions were rising up, threatening to choke her but suddenly there was someone next to her, taking the handset out of her clenched fingers.

“It’s Nurse Franklin, Mother,” she said. “No, she’s not alone.” She watched mutely as the young woman spoke, her free hand resting on Julienne’s own. The warmth of the contact seemed to infuse her frozen blood, offering a point of comfort, an anchor in the storm. She shouldn’t need it though, the least Julienne could do was to keep from falling apart. This had not been her intention. 

“Of course,” Nurse Franklin was saying. “The police have been informed. We’ll call you once they’ve…. Yes of course… Thank you… Sister? Sister Julienne?” It took a moment for her to realise that she was being spoken to directly and blinking, she tried to focus on the concerned face kneeling beside her chair. 

“Sister Julienne?”

“Nurse Franklin, you didn’t need to…” She gestured to the telephone.

“I did, Sister Julienne. You were worrying Mother Mildred and you’re frightening me.”

“There is no need for concern on my account.” _Please_ , she thought, that wasn’t… she couldn’t… Julienne took a fortifying breath, looking up and straightening her shoulders, taking strength from the certainty of her conviction. “Sister Frances’ loss is a tragedy and the blame for it is mine. I will not shy away from that.” 

“It’s not as simple as that,” Trixie said earnestly, tightening her grip on Julienne’s hands. Looking down at the smooth fingers that were clasped with her own, she was struck the fact that only half the younger woman’s nails were painted with the striking pink that was very joyous. 

“We don’t and we might never, know what was going on inside Sister Frances’ head,” Trixie continued. “But please Sister Julienne, if you believe anyone when they say that it is never as simple as any one thing or any one person,” she tilted her head, trying to catch Julienne's eye. “Then please believe me.”

“I…” she stopped, swallowing and closing her eyes against a new assault of emotion. She had always tried to look out for all the young woman who passed through Nonnatus House, but so often she had failed to provide the care and support they had required; Sister Mary Cynthia and Trixie were both testament to that even before what had happened tonight.

“You weren’t the only one here, Sister,” the young nurse continued. “Sister Hilda had known her longer, Mrs Turner had been working closely with her and I… I should have seen the signs.”

“Her demons were her own Nurse Franklin,” Julienne protested. “And not yours to slay.”

“And neither were they yours, Sister Julienne. The police will investigate and Mother Mildred assured me that the Order will review what has happened, but until we know as much as we can, then all we can do is care for one another.” 

“Your compassion has always been one of your most admirable qualities, Nurse Franklin,” she said, this flood of tears overwhelming her defences. 

“Then please Sister, accept a little compassion now.” The young woman’s face crumpled and she too began to sob. Kneeling up, Trixie threw her arms around Julienne and in turn the sister found herself clinging on to her like a life raft.

No matter what anyone found, Sister Julienne knew in her heart, her own part in what had happened. She did not deserve this kindness but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away from it and so, together they cried.

*****

When the telephone rang, not long after Nurse Crane had gone to answer the door, Sister Hilda stood and wiped dry her face.

“I’ll get that,” she offered. “Help yourself to tea Mrs Turner.”

“Nonnatus House, midwife speaking,” she answered when she’d lifted the receiver, her tone more cheerful than she had intended.

“Sister Hilda.”

“Nurse Dyer, is Doctor required at the Maternity Home?”

“No, my two ladies are tucked up and no sign of anything progressing. I just wanted to check in, Sister. I’m so very sorry.”

“You’re very kind Nurse, though I’m not sure I have anything more to tell you. Mrs Turner is here along with Doctor and Nurse Crane and I have returned so that at least our numbers are greater if not our understanding.”

“I don’t know that we can ever understand something like this,” the young woman said. “It’s such a waste.”

“We must strive to,” Sister Hilda said. “If only so that we can stop it happening again. I believe the police have arrived,” she said, as Nurse Crane showed the Sergeant and a constable into the dining room.

“I should let you go…”

“I’m sure once we’re done here… would you like someone to come down Nurse Dyer? None of us should be alone tonight.”

“That’s not necessary,” the other woman said, though her upset was clearly audible.

“Nonetheless,” Sister Hilda said. “Once we’ve been able to see the lay of the land, I’ll see that someone stops in at least.”

“Thank you.”

“Just you be sure to put the kettle on for now, and God bless you.”

She took a moment, thought about retreating to the chapel and while it was a tempting though, she knew that now was not the time.

“Sister Hilda,” Mrs Turner greeted her quietly on her return to the kitchen. “Is everything alright?”

“Quite,” she said with a half hearted smile. “Nurse Dyer was calling for some reassurance as much as anything I think. I’ve said someone will pop in and see her once…” she gestured to where Doctor Turner and the policemen were in close conversation.

“Of course,” she nodded. 

“No one should be on their own tonight,” Phyllis agreed.

“Evening ladies, Sister,” Sergeant Woolf said. “My condolences.”

“I’ll take the Sergeant upstairs,” Doctor Turner said.

“We’ll need to speak to you all of course, but especially anyone who was at home this evening.”

“I have explained,” the other man said, with tight lips. “That that may not be possible.”

“I know it’s less than ideal,” the policeman said with what Hilda thought was genuine sympathy, “But it is necessary that I speak with Sister Julienne in particular as soon as possible.”

“I’ll see how things are faring,” Nurse Crane said, once the men had left. “Although perhaps,” she paused. “Mrs Turner, you would like to?”

“I’m not sure that I’m… I think sometimes she feels she needs to put on a strong front for me.”

“None of that now, lass.” Phyllis said, with the gentleness it had taken Hilda sometime to see in the other woman. 

“Why don’t you both go,” Sister Hilda suggested. “I’ll make sure there’s plenty of water for tea and hot water bottles.”

She was the newcomer here, still learning about those she was living and working with but still the knowledge that they were nearby, that Nurse Anderson was upstairs with Sister Monica Joan and that the others were trying to offer some comfort to Sister Julienne, was something she found comforting herself. Filling both kettles and putting them onto the hob to boil, she collected both her own and Nurse Crane’s bags and returned them to the treatment room. 

As she tidied things away, prepared the instruments to be sterilised she fumbled, sending a set of clamps ricocheting to the floor. The sound of metal on metal and then tile echoed around the room, and she found herself staring at the tool. The image of Sister Frances’s awkward smile when she had done the same thing, came back to her as clear as day. Then her and her fellow novitiates giggling in the doorway as she prepared their wedding gowns, the way she had tilted her head she was concentrating or the way she had consistently miss-spelled _Philippians_.

“O Father,” she whispered, gripping the counter in front of her. “Our hope and strength,” the prayer flowed freely from her lips and with it she opened both her heart and soul. The words were familiar, comfortable, but she meant them all, now more than ever. Her eyes closed, invested in desire behind the plea, she didn’t hear anyone until another voice joined in her own;

“... Be still and know that I am God…” Mrs Turner said gently, coming to stand beside her and they continued on together to the end of the prayer.

“Sister Julienne is speaking to Sergeant Woolf,” she said, crouching down to retrieve the fallen instrument from the floor. 

“How is she?” Sister Hilda asked, as she took it from the other woman and finished loading the autoclave.

“She is… distraught. Though she’s trying to hide it. She’s also entirely convinced that she is to blame for what… for what happened. I understand that her conversation with Mother Mildred was quite unlike her.”

“The shock of finding Sister Frances… It must have been quite awful.”

“Sister Julienne takes her responsibility to every soul under this roof seriously, she always has but this is extreme and born of the shock I’m certain,” Mrs Turner said, clasping her own hands.

“I oversaw the training of the novices at the Mother House,” Hilda said suddenly. “I saw Sister Frances, blossom or at least… I thought I had. If there is anyone who should have known...”

“We so rarely know what even those we feel we understand best are thinking. Perhaps we all should have seen more, done more, but if she was determined to hide it…” she trailed off into silence for a moment. “In any case, it is certainly not one of ours to shoulder the guilt for alone.” Sister Hilda released a shuddering sigh and offered a tentative smile and a nod.

“Indeed it is not and while it may take time, there will be a way through this if only we can trust in God to help us see it.”

“There will,” Mrs Turner agreed. “And in the meantime, Phyllis is sitting in with Sister Julienne while she answers the police’s questions.”

“Ah the fearless Nurse Crane,” Hilda said closing the lid and stating the sterilising cycle. “There is no one I would rather have by her side.”

“I agree entirely, Sister Hilda. Trixie has expressed a desire to go to the Maternity Home,” she added and it pleased the sister to hear it. “Patrick is on the phone trying to arrange for cover but we can drop her off on our way home.”

“I’m sure that would be much appreciated.”

“I’m hoping he can convince Sister Julienne, to take something to help her rest before we go. And that the constable will have finished searching Sister Frances’s room…” she added with an unspoken shudder.

“We shall have to endure in the hope that we can understand and heal.”

“Together,” the younger woman added, reaching out to rest her hand on top of Hilda’s on the workbench.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little longer, a little darker.  
> I hope you've enjoyed though I know it is messy.  
> Thank you as ever for reading and any and all feedback is much appreciated.  
> Lx  
> @LHA_again


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is slightly different in that it's all one character's POV... he rather got away with me did Roger Woolf.

Roger Woolf had been in the police for long enough that he’d seen his fair share of unexpected deaths; they were rarely uncomplicated and never pleasant. As he climbed the staircase this evening, he couldn’t help but feel that no matter what he found this was going to be an incident that stayed with him. Doctor Turner lead the way, indicating which of the bedrooms belonged to Sister Frances.

“Wilson,” he said to the young constable who was following them. “See what you can find. Anything that might be a note.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, peeling away.

“Sergeant Woolf,” Sister Monica Joan said, standing from her seat beside the bathroom door. One of the young nurses, the Jamaican girl, stood as well. “You are here to satisfy the law that our dear Sister was not taken by any other hand but her own?” As always, it took him a few moments to decipher what it was she meant.

“Yes,” he replied. “I need to make sure that no-one else was involved.” She looked at him, her gaze so piercing that it was hard to equate with confused old woman he’d been asked to help locate when she had wandered off. 

“You will afford her every decency that you can, while still performing your duties to the best of your abilities?”

“I will,” he said straightening his shoulders. She watched him a little longer before she nodded her acceptance of his assurances and stood aside. 

“This was the scene much as I found it,” Doctor Turner said when they were both inside. “There’s nothing to indicate to me that death wasn’t caused by blood loss. Some of the cuts are deep enough that when she was submerged she would have bled out quite quickly.”

“Any sign of a blade?”

“There’s a scalpel at the bottom of the the bath.”

“Presumably that’s something she would have had access to?” 

“They’re part of the standard kit the midwives carry.”

“Would she have had access to other medical supplies, drugs?”

“They carry a stock of pethidine,” Doctor Turner supplied with a frown. “It’s carefully controlled but she could have found enough to overdose on I suppose.” Roger didn’t say anything to this, simply filing it away. 

He took his time, but while the body had clearly, and understandably, been moved there was nothing that struck him as immediately suspicious. When he retreated to see what Constable Wilson had established, he found the younger man standing awkwardly by the chest of drawers.

“Constable?” he asked. 

“No note, Sir,” he said turning around and clearly trying to sound efficient. “I don’t… I’m not sure what’s normal for a nun’s bedroom,” he admitted glancing around the spartan room. “The only strange thing I can see is the picture here Sir,” he said indicating the frame resting face down on the top of the drawers.

“Have you checked the drawers lad?” he asked gently. Wilson was green still, newly out of training and lacking the self confidence experience would bring. Together they went through the room, but once again there was nothing that suggested anything untoward. Her clothes had been placed in a laundry basket, her possessions, few though they were, were neatly stowed away and on her bedside table, her wooden cross rested upon a closed bible.

“Stay here and make notes of what we’ve found, Constable,” he said once he was happy that he had highlighted everything of note. It would help the lad write his report and also keep him out of the way while he spoke to Sister Julienne. “I’m sure someone will make you a cup of tea when you’re done and then we’ll speak to Nurse Anderson. Understand?”

“Yes Sergeant,” he replied.

Doctor Turner was talking quietly with Sister Monica Joan and Nurse Anderson on the landing when Roger came back out to the hall.

“I’ll need to speak with you both ladies,” he said. “But I’d lie to start with Sister Julienne first, if Doctor will consent of course.”

“I'll go and see,” the medical man said, descending the stairs ahead of them.

“Her words may not yet be the truth you need Sergeant Woolf,” the Sister called out as Roger turned to follow Turner. Stopping, he turned back as she continued. “Her grief is yet too raw and her guilt too great. She will see more clearly in time but you cannot take her word for her own culpability in this tragedy.”

“I understand,” he said quietly. 

“Good,” she said, her tone changing abruptly. “Well then, what are you waiting for sir?”

“Sister,” he said in acknowledgement, resisting the urge to shake his head.

By the time he made it downstairs, Mrs Turner was coming out of the office and closing the door behind her.

“Why don’t you head through to the dining room, Sergeant Woolf. Can I fetch you a cup of tea while you wait?” she offered.

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble Mrs Turner, thank you.”

Getting himself seated at the dining room table, he opened his own notebook and began to make his own notes about the scene in the bathroom. It must have been five minutes later when she appeared with a cup.

“Sister Julienne is just freshening up,” she said, laying it down on the table. “Nurse Crane is going to sit with her if you don't object.”

“Of course not, and I will endeavour to be as compassionate as circumstances allow.” He did wonder what sort of monster they thought he was but when they did arrive even he was slightly taken aback.

Sister Julienne was strikingly pale and seemed to have aged decades. She looked frail and uncertain, so unlike the calm strength and well of endless patience he associated her with that he began to understand why the others had been so concerned. However fragile though, she was standing straight, red rimmed eyes focussed and behind her Phyllis was there radiating her usual formidable aura.

“Please Sister,” he said standing and pulling out a chair. “Have a seat. Nurse Crane if you’d like to…” he gestured to one of the chairs and she nodded efficiently, seating herself next to  
the other woman. 

Roger glanced down at his notes before beginning;

“My condolences Sister, Nurse Crane. I am sorry to have to ask these questions at such a difficult time but…”

“We understand that you need to do your job Sergeant Woolf,” the Sister said.

“Thank you. Are you aware of anything unusual in Sister Frances life recently that might have led to this?”

“Nothing unusual, no. If there was anything, then I certainly wasn’t aware of it.” The weight of regret was heavy in her tone despite her frank response.

“Can you take me through the events of today?” he asked. 

“It was fairly routine,” she began flatly. “There were rounds this morning, Sister Frances was out with Nurse Dyer on post-natal checks. We all had lunch together, Mr Buckle joined us.” He watched as she pulled the edges of her cardigan across to the opposite sides, as though she were struggling to get warm. “This afternoon it was Clinic but again, I’m not aware that anything out of the ordinary happened. Sister Frances was on the weighing station and I was working with Doctor Turner so I didn’t see much of what happened in the hall.” Her attention seemed to drift.

“And what about this evening?” he prompted.

“During dinner I was aware that… Sister Frances seemed quiet, more withdrawn than usual, so I suggested that she joined me for some personal devotion time in the chapel. We were there from perhaps quarter past six until seven o’clock.”

“And you parted then?”

“Yes. I had administrative work to complete. I… I suggested that Sister Frances take a bath and have an early night, that perhaps a good night’s sleep would help.” 

“But you didn’t get any impression from her that there was anything significant worrying her?”

“Certainly not the extent that there clearly was,” she responded calmly. “I… she seemed tired, unsettled even but I… It is not always an easy journey to where you are ready to take your final vows. She was studying as well as nursing and while I had hoped she would share whatever it was that was troubling her she did not. I… I had no idea or I would...” she stopped breathing carefully and clearly struggling reign in her emotions. Phyllis placed a hand on the Sister’s shoulder and looked at him pointedly.

Roger waited, giving her the time she needed before he continued;

“So you were working in your office?”

“Yes. It must have been about nine o’clock when I went upstairs. I… it hadn’t been my intention to check on her but… I felt drawn. Nurse Franklin was playing music. I… when she didn’t answer when I knocked on her door I opened it. I thought she might have been asleep I suppose and if she was studying… in any case, she wasn’t there. I tried the bathroom but there was no answer. When I turned the handle the door opened and I thought it was empty…”

“The door was unlocked?” Roger asked her to clarify. 

“Yes. When I saw…” the Sister paused again her breathing unsteady and the silence stretched some time before she continued. “Her neck was resting on the rim of the bathtub, her head was above the water but there was… I couldn’t see any discernible signs of life and she had lost a lot of blood but I pulled her out.” She looked up at him, before she continued. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have…”

“If there was any chance that she could have been saved then you were quite right to take whatever measures necessary,” he reassured her. It was always a challenge when they had to visit a scene of an incident that had been disturbed but the preservation of life was certainly more important.

“Once she was on the floor…” Sister Julienne continued, eyes downcast again. “There was no pulse or respiration and it was clear that there hadn’t been for some time.” She stopped suddenly looking up as though a thought had only just struck her. “The door was unlocked. She… anyone could have found her!”

This fact had struck Roger as soon as he’d seen that the door hadn’t been forced. While suicide was no longer a criminal offence, if this young woman had been truly determined to end her own life, bolting the door would have seemed a sensible precaution to prevent her being interrupted. Whether or not leaving the door unlatched had been intentional, it was perhaps telling and clearly Sister Julienne was reading something into it.

“Easy now,” Phyllis was saying to the other woman who had turned to to face her, a hand resting at her mouth.

“What if I hadn’t waited so long? If I’d gone up earlier…”

“But you didn’t, and neither did anyone else,” the nurse said firmly, pulling her hand away so she could grip them both in her own. “ _’What if’s’_ aren’t going to bring her back. However much we might wish otherwise.” This last was said with the knowledge of loss and something in it seemed to strike a note with the older woman. The dynamic between them changed and Sister Julienne clasped Phyllis’s hand offering her a tight lipped nod.

“Was there anything else you needed to ask, Sergeant?” she asked turning back towards him, wiping the tears from her cheeks. The gesture was ineffectual as they were shortly replaced but he respected the effort she was clearly making.

“I think that’s everything,” he said checking his notes. There was the question of the Pethidine stores but that needn’t be answered by Sister Julienne.

“Do you know when we’ll be able to… when you’ll be happy for her to be moved?”

“I will need to speak to the others,” he said folding his hands on his notebook. “But unless anything else comes to light then I can’t see why she couldn’t be collected after that. I haven’t heard or seen anything that suggests there was foul play involved but it’s likely that the Coroner will want a post mortem to be performed.” The Sister nodded, and Roger knew that she must have been expecting this.

“I will expiadate her collection as much as I can,” he added, understanding why this was a cause for concern.

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Phyllis said. “Now,” she said turning to Sister Julienne. “It’s passed time that Doctor Turner gave you a sedative and we got you into bed.” As the pair of them left, Roger heard the Sister’s protests but was sure they would fall on deaf ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really that you're enjoying and I always love to hear your thoughts!  
> Thanks for reading,  
> Lx  
> @LHA_again


	6. Chapter 6

Sister Monica Joan watched the policeman depart, reassured that despite the lack of finesse he had shown in his attempts at courting Nurse Crane that he would proceed with a gentle caution in his interrogation of Sister Julienne. The young constable almost slunk out of Sister Frances’ room and down the stairs without making eye contact.

“I think he’s terrified of you, Sister.” Nurse Anderson offered with a gentle smile.

“He will hardly last the course in his chosen profession if he is intimidated by two upstanding women sitting peaceably in an upstanding establishment.”

“That as may be, but we are both in uniform Sister. Now, can I fetch you another cup of tea?”

“I am replete,” Monica Joan answered. “I fear that even the restorative power of that lauded blend is being stretched.”

“Would a shortbread biscuit help?”

“I find I am unswayed,” she said and they both slipped back into private contemplation. It was in the silence, that God was to be found she had been told as she had begun her journey in the Order and if ever she had needed guidance it was now. 

Over the years, she had found the oft repeated words of their devotions were unnecessary, that her relationship with her Lord transcended them. Tonight however the comfort of the familiar verses had been welcome. She gave herself to the quiet and allowed her mind to follow the familiar pathways of observances and scripture, trusting that God would guide her way even when her own reason and recall failed.

Sister Hilda appeared at the top of the stairs some short time later, cradling a hot water bottle to her chest.

“Sergeant Woolf is speaking to Nurse Franklin,” she said as she approached. “I believe that Nurse Anderson is next on his list if you’d like to go down?” 

“Of course, Sister Hilda,” she said standing. “Will you be alright on your own Sister Monica Joan?”

“While your company has been a great comfort Nurse Anderson, I surmise I may too be on the Sergeant’s list.”

“I’d like to take my watch, once I’ve popped this into Sister Julienne’s bed,” Sister Hilda said, lifting the hot water bottle.

“Has she agreed to...” Nurse Anderson asked, trailing off.

“I’ve left Mrs Turner and Nurse Crane fighting the good fight. I believe that Doctor Turner is being kept as a last resort.” It would be a fight well fought, Monica Joan thought if nothing else.

Sister Hilda was still turning down Sister Julienne’s bed, when the senior nun climbed the stairs. She was alone, without protectors.

“My dear, dear Sister,” Monica Joan said, as emotion rose in her chest. Going to her, she opened her arms, but though her embrace was accepted, the other woman seemed resistant to the comfort.

“Thank you,” Julienne whispered by her ear.

“It is time to rest, you are pushed beyond endurance.” There was a hollow chuckle.

“How could I go and try to sleep while she is lying there…”

“She is not here; this is but a shell now. We shall offer it all the respect that we can but our sister is not here, she is with our Lord.”

“We cannot know that…”

“We can know that ours is a God of love and compassion. That this child cannot possibly have been in her right mind if she felt that taking this final action was all that was left open to her when so many of us would have tried to help her… We have to walk in the hope that she is with our Father, and that he has soothed the troubles that have been assailing her. He is our solace and our rest. She is at peace.”

“Amen,” Sister Hilda added, from her place at the bedroom door. Monica Joan loosened her grip, allowing Sister Julienne to step back and beckon their sister to join them. They took each others’ hands and stood, alone, together for the first time. 

“God is good,” Sister Julienne said, her voice trembling with exhaustion and emotion in equal measure. “Even when we cannot understand the world around us, we know that God sent Jesus Christ to die upon the cross to account for our sin.”

“That we might be with him in heaven, eternally.”

“Grace,” she said, her own tears falling now. “It is by grace alone that any of us approach the throne and faith that must sustain us until then.” Once again there was silence but it felt heavy with the presence of the Holy Spirit. 

“I think I need to go to bed.” The quiet admission came from Sister Julienne.

“I quite agree,” said Sister Hilda.

“As do I,” Mrs Turner said rounding the banister. “Patrick has sent me up with strict instructions that you are to drink this.”

“Yes,” Julienne said, “I think that might be for the best.” She moved to go, but Monica Joan did not release her hand. When she turned back, the older woman pulled her in and with a hand on either side of her face drew her head down so she could place a chaste kiss on her brow.

“Rest well my child,” she said quietly as they moved away. And with the morning would come the dawn she thought as she watched Shelagh and Julienne move away before Hilda’s hand squeezing her own drew her attention back. 

“Once you’ve spoken to Sergeant Woolf…”

“I will gladly sleep,” Monica Joan offered. Despite her insistence on the necessity of rest only a few minutes ago, the idea left her uncomfortable but the force of her own exhaustion struck like a hammer blow.

“And so you should,” Sister Hilda said with a gentle huff. “I’ll sit with Sister Frances’ remains until she can be removed. You go on down stairs now.”

*****

Valerie had never wished for someone to go into labour more, for worse reasons. Sitting at the reception desk, she tapped her thumb against her lip while the cigarette between her fingers, smouldered away unnoticed. After she had called back Nonnatus and spoken to Sister Hilda, she’d scrubbed down the sluice and resorted the linen cupboard just to have something to do. It was after one AM now though and she had two women next door who had been admitted specifically because they needed rest.

When the door opened to reveal Trixie standing there in slacks and a sweater and looking far from her usual polished self, Val stood and almost ran towards her. They met in the middle of the reception and clung to each other for a moment without the need for words.

“It’s awful, Valerie. So terribly terribly awful.”

“Oh duck, I wish there was something… anything I could say. I just… I had no idea.”

“None of us did,” Trixie said wiping the fresh tears from beneath her eyes as though she was trying to salvage mascara she was no longer wearing. “And there’s nothing anyone can say. I was trying to find something that would offer Sister Julienne some comfort… Oh Val… I’ve only ever seen her shed a tear a handful of times but this was… I know we sometime clash but....”

“But she’s like a mother to you.” Trixie gave her a tearful nod as Val moved them across to sit in waiting seats.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget… the way poor Sister Frances looked or the way Sister Julienne sounded…”

“Lucille said Sister Julienne found her?”

“She managed to get her out of the tub, I can’t even begin to imagine how.” Val had seen all sorts of things done in the heat of a crisis and seen Sister Julienne move more than one patient, but still her slight stature as well as her age made the feat remarkable. “I think Sister Frances must have been in there for at least an hour. There was… she was gone long before we got there.”

“And Sergeant Woolf?”

“He obviously had to ask questions, but he’s allowing someone to come and take her away.”

“Thank God for that at least,” she said with a shudder. Someone would need to clear up though and that would be a soul destroying task; it had been bad enough after Cath Hindman’s failed termination. 

Val liked to think that she had a good head on her shoulders but that night she had deferred to Sister Julienne’s experienced and judgement and gladly so. There had been no shortage of strong women in her life but that had never stopped her appreciating the quiet strength in the senior nun.

“Shall we have some tea?” Val asked some time later, when the silence seemed to have settled. 

“Please, no more tea!” Trixie said in mock horror. “I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted a proper drink more than now though,” she admitted, glancing up at Val and then immediately away. “I was… I went to Sister Julienne when she was in her office. She was… I had to speak to Mother Mildred because she was so busy trying to resign from her duties that she wasn’t listening to what anyone else said. But when I was comforting her all I could think about was the Tia Maria in your bedside cabinet… I couldn’t…” Val leaned forward and pulled Trixie into a tight embrace.

“But you _were_ there with her Trixie and then you’ve made sure you were somewhere where temptation was harder to reach, that you weren’t alone. We’ll get through tonight and then we’ll find you a meeting tomorrow. You’ve made the best decisions you could and I am so glad you’ve told me you’re struggling.”

It was a while before they moved but when they did it was for tea and toast. The rest of the night the spent playing Rummy while they periodically monitored their sleeping patients. When Doctor and Mrs Turner arrived, albeit slightly earlier than normal, it hardly seemed that time had passed at all.

“We’ve asked for the relief district nurses and maternity cover to come here,” Mrs Turner said once she’d hugged them both. “I’ll do a handover and then keep a weather eye.”

“Have either of you managed to sleep at all?” Trixie asked.

“Not enough,” Shelagh admitted. “But we’ll manage.”

“I’ll run you back to Nonnatus,” Doctor Turner offered. “I’d like to check in before morning surgery.” The patient handover was quick and efficient given how little change there had been and in the space of minutes they’d gathered up there things and left the maternity home. 

Valerie felt a sense of foreboding stepping over the threshold to their home that was alien and unsettling. She had no idea at all what it was that she was going to find but when there was no sign of anyone and the stillness of the early morning seemed entirely undisturbed. The three of them made it all the way along the corridor with no sight or sound of anyone and Val looked to Trixie in concern at the idea there was no one in the vicinity of the phone. Only moments later though Sister Hilda appeared from the door to the chapel.

“Morning ladies. Doctor,” she said quietly. “I was just…” she said indicating the room from which she had come. “Nurse Anderson was called out a few hours ago, so I’ve had half an ear out for the phone. You all look done in,” she said tilting her head and looking at them with a piercing gaze.

“You look pretty knackered yourself Sister,” Val said honestly.

“Nurse Crane and I had a go at the bathroom once the… once Sister Frances was taken away. She went to get some sleep but I’m sure she’ll be up soon enough.”

“Well, any more calls coming through should be referred to the Maternity Home,” Doctor Turner said. “There’s relief from St Thomas's coming to cover the District and Maternity rounds.” The sister nodded, grim faced.

“Well, I suppose someone ought to think about breakfast. We should all try and eat something before we sleep.”

“I’ll help you with that,” Trixie said, her attempt at a light tone failing jarringly.

“I’m just going to nip upstairs and change,” Val chipped in. “I’ll not be long.”

“I’d like to look in on Sister Julienne,” Doctor Turner said. “If you wouldn’t mind accompanying me Nurse Dyer?”

“Of course Doctor,” she said. “Five minutes and then I’m all yours.” It wasn’t that she was so desperate to get out of her uniform that she wanted to delay him, only she had another mission that she was determined to complete before she was interrupted. 

Climbing the stairs quickly, she entered her room and sparing barely a glance for the manicure tray and silk robe her friend had abandoned haphazardly across her bed. Instead, Val headed straight for her bedside cabinet and pulled out the Tia Maria and the new bottle of gin she’d bought earlier in the week. She couldn’t remove all temptation or do very much to make anything better but this she could do. Without allowing herself to stop on the threshold of the bathroom Valerie crossed to the sink and upended them so they would empty down the drain.

“You’re a good friend lass,” came a warm voice from behind her. Turning she saw Phyllis standing there in her dressing gown and something inside her shifted. Almost as though she felt it too the older woman opened her arms and welcomed Val into her embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay - RL has been a little busier than usual.  
> I hope you enjoy and thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment - I always love to hear your thoughts!  
> Lx  
> @LHA_again


End file.
